


tell me you love me (come back and haunt me)

by alaynestones



Series: the rest is confetti [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Lyanna is Not a Stark, Mentions of Infertility, Pining, Survivor Guilt, also she married howland and meera and jojen are her kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25590352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaynestones/pseuds/alaynestones
Summary: “Maybe you should sit down, son.” Mormont told him.That was when he knew. He was usually the one saying that, when he had to break bad news to a patient’s family. His ears felt like they were ringing. He looked at Arianne’s face, and he just knew, because there was no one else she’d be here for. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. To ask the question.“We have to go,” was all Arianne said. And it was all she needed to say.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: the rest is confetti [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854727
Comments: 83
Kudos: 316





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel/Sequel to “you can call me by the name I gave you.”
> 
> [title from the scientist by coldplay]
> 
> EDIT: again, this story is based on mr. salary, normal people, and mark and lexie’s relationship in grey’s anatomy. All the characters from the source material had flaws and unhealthy relationship attachments, and this au is gonna reflect that. Don’t like it, don’t read.

When Jon found out Sansa was hurt, he was at work. His phone was in his locker. He had just finished his first and last surgery of the day—that was purposeful. He had an appointment to get to at three. 

He got a page from Mormont, so he went up to his office. Arianne was sitting with him. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked her.

He knew something was wrong, because Arianne’s eyes were red rimmed and her face was chalky and her voice was so hoarse he could barely make out what she was saying. “You haven’t been answering your phone.”

“I was in surgery the last four hours.”

“Maybe you should sit down, son.” Mormont told him.

That was when he knew. He was usually the one saying that, when he had to break bad news to a patient’s family. His ears felt like they were ringing. He looked at Arianne’s face, and he just _knew_ , because there was no one else she’d be here for. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. To ask the question.

“We have to go,” was all Arianne said. And it was all she needed to say. 

She explained it all in the car, on the way back to his place. A wrong swerve on a patch of ice. The injuries were extensive, but he didn’t know what they were. Maybe Arianne didn’t know what they were or maybe she was glossing over them for his sake. He couldn’t think straight, so it didn’t occur to him to ask. Part of him didn’t want to know yet. 

Arianne waited in the car while Jon went into his flat to grab a few things. He nearly just stood there frozen in the front door. This used to be their flat. Their home. They watched TV on that couch and she forced him to eat breakfast at that table before leaving for shifts in the morning and she used to do dishes in that sink—

He almost broke. Almost. 

He went to his room to pack. He opened his drawers and randomly started throwing stuff into his duffel bag. He came across something bright and silver in his sock drawer. A ring. Sansa’s ring. It was on a chain, so that he didn’t lose it. So that he could give it to her the next time he saw her. Sometimes, when he was drunk, he wore it. He pocketed it without thinking, and kept going. 

Jon was finishing up packing when the front door opened, and he was reminded of the reason his day was so mild in the first place. Val had her first IVF appointment. 

“We’ve had this appointment lined up for months.”

Jon zipped up his suitcase. “Reschedule it.”

“They might give it to someone else and put us back on the waitlist.” Val argued.

“Then we’ll wait.”

“We’re 40 years old. We don’t have time to _wait_.”

“I don’t have time for _this_.” His voice rises.

“Your family? You don’t have time for your _family?”_

He remained silent.

He didn’t know how to explain this to her—that Sansa was more than his family. She was a part of him. And if she was gone, she wouldn’t be anymore. And he didn’t think he could possibly fathom a world without her. 

“You always play right into her hands.” Val sneered. “She cries wolf and you come running to her rescue. Like you always do.”

“That’s not what this is!” He shouted. “She could have died–”

“But she didn’t! She’s being taken care of! There’s nothing you can do for her now! She doesn’t _need_ you, Jon! Stop pretending this has anything to do with her needs and not your— _obsession_ with her.”

Obsession. The word sounded wrong in her mouth. Dirty. Impure. Everything that Sansa was not. Maybe he deserved those things—but she didn’t.

All of the fight left his body. He was so tired. “She’s my best friend.”

“I’m your wife.” Val’s voice shook. “You married me. You chose me. Be a fucking man and stand by that choice.”

He shouldn’t have. He had known for years that he shouldn’t have, but was past the point of caring. Now, it was staring at him right in the face. He pushed it aside as he always did.

“I’ve stood by you for three years, I’m in this as much as you—”

“Are you? This is our future! This is our child! And you’re thinking about your _whore_.”

His hand tightened around the handle of the suitcase and he bit his tongue so hard it bled. He moved towards the door. He wasn’t gonna say something horrible to her. He wasn’t gonna give her what she wanted. 

“If you walk out that door, I won’t be here when you come back.” 

He looked back at her. Her face was wan. She was crying. He had never seen her cry, before. Not the entire time they’ve known each other. Not through two miscarriages. Jon realized then, that she was begging him in the only way she knew how. Threats and barbs.

But even if she got down on her knees, he couldn’t give her what she wanted. 

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Jon said. “I’m sorry.” And he left.

He prided himself on being able to hide his emotions, but Arianne knew him better than most. She took the keys from him and drove them back to the flat she and Benjen had in the city. She kept cutting worried glances at him all the while. 

“I need to stay with you.” He said. “Until our flight tomorrow morning. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.” 

She grabbed his hand, and squeezed, but Jon pulled away. He didn’t deserve anyone’s comfort. 

* * *

They got into Boston around noon. Jon wanted to go straight to the hospital, but Arianne forced him to check into his room at the hotel first. When he got to the bathroom, he understood why. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and he felt like it, too.

On the way to the hospital, he noticed everything was wet and cold. It was the sort of cold that went to your bones. But it kept him awake, so he was thankful for it. 

The entire Stark brood was in the waiting room of the ICU. He would have recognized them solely from their red hair, but Sansa had a lot of pictures at the flat when they lived together, and she talked about them a lot. She loved them very much.

Catelyn embraced Arianne and Benjen, and then him. Jon wasn’t expecting it. She hadn’t been especially warm to him before, just cordial, but he knew her feelings at the present had more to do with the fact that he went to medical school rather than how she actually felt about him.

“She’s stable, now.” Catelyn said. She was talking very fast. “She has been for the last day, ever since she got out of surgery. Dr. Cassel is the one who worked on her. He seemed like he knew what he’s talking about, but he’s really young.”

“I’ll speak to him.” He assured her, and watched her practically wilt in relief. 

Truthfully, Dr. Cassel wasn’t much younger than he was. They might have even been the same age. But his face was easy going and kind and Jon didn’t like that because there was nothing easy going about the situation at hand. 

“The surgery went well, but the swelling in her brain was still significant, so we had to put her under.” He explained. 

“And what about the swelling? How is it now?”

“It’s only been a day—”

“That’s not an answer.”

Dr. Cassel’s smile faded. His brow creased. “It’s gone down some—”

“But not as much as you were hoping.”

He didn’t say anything. Bile raised in Jon’s throat. He asked him, very quietly, “How long are you giving her?”

“We don’t—”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

His voice came out louder than he expected it to. People that passed them looked over. He didn’t care. 

“You’re a doctor.” Dr. Cassel said, still calm and measured. “You know as well as I do that there’s no approximation or standard for medically induced comas. Every patient is different. We’ll keep running scans, and look at her progression. Then we’ll go from there. It’s all we can do.”

He knew that. It didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“She did very well in surgery. I’m hopeful. She’s very strong.”

Jon knew she was strong. Her family didn’t, though. They thought she was delicate. They didn’t understand that she could be both. They didn’t understand she warred between the two constantly. 

He didn’t need a doctor to tell him what he already knew, so he walked back to the waiting room without another word. He sat in a chair. Catelyn and Arianne were nowhere to be seen. Benjen and Robb were conversing. 

“Fancy seeing you here, doctor braveheart.” Rickon Stark plopped into a chair across from him, waggling his eyebrows. 

Jon stared at him blankly. 

“It was a joke. You were supposed to _laugh.”_

One of the twins—Arya—smacked him on the back of the head before sitting beside him. “Dude. Shut up.”

She was the odd one out of the five of them—the only one with dark hair. She kept it at a short and choppy length. She had a tattoo of a mask on her wrist. After doing some math in his head, he concluded she was 21, and so was Bran. That meant she was old enough to get it. 

Bran sat down beside her, and directed his question towards him. “Is she gonna be okay?”

His hair was darker than Sansa’s, more auburn, but their eyes were the same earnest ocean blue. She told him once that Bran was always her favorite, because she would let him do all the things Arya wouldn’t. Paint his nails, have tea parties, and play with dolls, and build pillow forts. 

Jon decided then he wouldn’t lie to him. But he didn’t want to dash his hopes. “Her swelling has already gone down some.”

“That’s good, right?” Arya chimed in.

He didn’t say yes. “That was the aim of the procedure.”

“Does it help if we talk to her?” Rickon asked. “I read something—it says she can hear us...she just can’t talk back.”

“Obviously.” Arya put in. “She has a tube down her throat.”

Jon’s stomach roiled, but he answered Rickon’s question anyway. “There’s minimal brain activity going on, so she can hear you. It could be...some comfort to her.”

“I don’t want her to be comfortable.” Rickon said. “I want her to get better.”

They all just stared at him then, as if they wanted more answers he could not provide them. Jon felt his throat tightening. He told them, “Excuse me.”

And he left.

* * *

Back when they lived together, Sansa had a nightmare. She came to the couch like she always did. Jon was already there, watching TV. She sat down on the other end. He didn’t look at her. He pretended not to notice that her shoulders were shaking. 

“Do you wanna watch something else?” A heart valve repair was playing on the screen, courtesy of the Eastwatch Memorial Hospital Archives. 

She shook her head, like he knew she would. She never minded. 

They sat there awhile, in that heavy silence, before she crawled to him. Her cheek rested against his thigh, as she pulled her knees up to her chest. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. She was only ever affectionate with him like this after a couple drinks. But he saw a tear slip down her cheek, and he decided to smooth her hair back. Her eyes closed. 

“Would you miss me if I died?”

The question made him feel like ice drenched his insides. “Why are you asking me that?”

“I’m just curious.” 

Jon stroked her hair some more, trying to calm himself. It was soft, and coming out of its braid. 

“Did you die in your dream?”

“No.” Her voice was flat. “I never die.”

_But I want to._ The implication was there, silent and threatening. 

“I would miss you.” 

She didn’t reply. She didn’t even move. 

Jon pulled her closer to him. He repeated, voice wobbling slightly, “I would miss you. So you’re not allowed to die—not in dreams, or anywhere else. Okay?

Sansa looked up at him. Her eyes shined with tears. She nodded.

He persisted. “Promise?”

“Promise.” She said back.

And he stayed with her for a very long time. He stayed with her until the screen went black and his eyelids started to grow heavy. That was when she nudged him.

“Go to bed. You’re gonna start snoring in a minute.”

Jon scrubbed at his face. “I’m not leaving you alone.” 

“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

_Yes, I do._ He wanted to tell her, but he didn’t.

“You need sleep, Jon. You have work tomorrow.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“To work?”

“To bed.”

She scowled, then. Hard. Embarrassed. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

He didn’t know how to explain it to her—that she was babysitting him as much as he was babysitting her. That he couldn’t sleep if he knew she was hurting. That he couldn’t bear to be in a world without her. 

“Please?” 

Her lip trembled and she looked away from him fast. When he stood up and tugged on her hand, she didn’t put up a fight. She followed him into the bedroom. They got into bed, and under the covers. He reached out for her. Like a magnet, she came to him. Her hair smelled like strawberries. Her body was so soft in his arms. 

“You’re safe here.” He was telling her as much as he was telling himself.

Sansa said nothing, but she held him tight.

* * *

At the hospital, Jon smoked a cigarette. He didn’t want to go back inside, so he stayed long after he finished. Robb came outside.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were out here.”

“It’s fine.”

They didn’t say anything. It was apparent now more than ever that they didn’t know a single thing about each other. 

“It’s been awhile.” Robb said.

“Yeah.” Jon searched for something to say. “How are your girls?”

“They’re at home. I don’t want them to see her like this. And she wouldn’t want them to, either.”

Robb had three daughters, which meant Sansa had three nieces. She loved them a lot, and face timed them on the phone almost every other day. Jon met them at his wedding. They were very sweet, but they also made him uncomfortable. He didn’t know how to act around children. 

“She’s a survivor.” Robb said. “She’s gonna be fine. I can feel it.”

Jon thought of that tube in her throat and couldn’t breathe. So he didn’t say anything.

Robb tried for a grin. “You’re supposed to reassure me. You’re the doctor, man.”

He couldn’t even reassure himself. “I hope so.”

“Thank you for coming here, by the way. My mom feels better having the second opinion of another doctor who actually cares about Sansa.”

_Cares._ He thought of her in his arms, and her body soft against him. He wished he just cared. As a matter of fact, he wished he didn’t care at all. 

“And you looked after her in London....I never thanked you for that. So. Thank you.”

“You guys are family.” It was the least offensive thing he could think of to say.

“Daddy!”

Three auburn haired little girls in puffy winter coats rush out of the elevator, swarming Robb. Jenny, Minisa, and Serena. They’re a little older than they were at the wedding. 

“I couldn’t keep them away.” Jeyne, his wife explained as she trailed them, out of breath. “They were crying. Ned couldn’t sleep.”

Ned was in her arms, looking more chubby than usual in his layers. Unlike the girls, he was dark haired. 

“Can’t we just wait here until she wakes up, Daddy?” Jenny pleaded. She was the oldest.

“Just a little while!” Minisa tugged on his sleeve.

“Please?” Serena added. But she was only three so it sounded like _peas._

“You guys didn’t even say hi Uncle Jon.” Robb chastised them.

Jon began to shake his head, reassuring him, but the girls all said hi to him anyway. Serena teetered over to him and threw her arms around his legs. He stood there, frozen.

“Honey, I told you that you have to ask people for hugs before you hug them.” Jeyne pulled her away embarrassedly. She looked at Jon. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He could still feel her latched onto his leg.

“You guys can stay just for a little while.” Robb told them. “Come on. Let’s go see if we can find something for your aunt in the gift shop.”

He lead his daughters away, corralling them in front of him like a flock of rambunctious lambs. His hand was pressed against Jeyne’s lower back, as they walked down the hall. Something inside of Jon ached. He thought of Val, and her IVF appointment, and the children they lost.

Jon looked down at his ring. He hadn’t taken it off yet.

* * *

He went to see her later on. It didn’t take any courage, he simply couldn’t stay away from her anymore. Robb took his family home. Catelyn was checking on her father, and taking Rickon home. Bran and Arya went out to eat with Benjen and Arianne. It was just them in that room, as it had always been.

The tube down her throat was a skinny thing and her face was pale and lifeless and her eyes had the darkest shadows underneath them. Her lips were chapped and cracked from the cold. Her arms laid limply at her side. Jon took one. It was cold, but it was soft. It was her. 

“You know I hate being at hospitals when I’m not working.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

She remained asleep. 

“If you’re trying to make a point, you’ve made it. You can come back now….you can come back to me.”

It was such a selfish statement. Her life was so much more than him, and his need for her, but his life was not. His life felt like nothing without her. 

“Please.” He begged her. “You can yell at me and hate me. Just come back.”

His eyes burned and his throat tightened and he held onto her like she was the only thing that kept him from drowning.

* * *

After that first time she slept in his bed, she kept coming and he kept letting her. They didn’t talk about it. They’d eat dinner and go their separate ways and then, he’d lay in the dark and wait for her to come to him. He slept better than he had in a long time, and Sansa didn’t have any nightmares. 

He knew it was strange and inappropriate but he ignored that fact for a long time, until he couldn’t possibly anymore. Until he woke up hard one morning and found himself hard because her breasts were up against his shoulder and her legs were tangled in his. She kept making these sounds, too. These little whimpers that drove him crazy. He came in the shower thinking about them. That was when he decided he needed to have sex. 

And that was how he met Val. She was at the same bar he was, and she approached him first. She was pretty and she was willing and most importantly, she was 37 and so was he. He took her home, and locked his room door that night.

But it didn’t end up mattering. Sansa didn’t come home until the next morning. Her clothes looked slept in and her hair was messy but her smile when she saw him was blinding. Breathtaking. He was in the kitchen making coffee.

“I stayed over at Mya’s. We had a study group thing.” She explained. “Which may or may not have involved drinking.”

He was just too relieved to see her. He had been seconds away from calling the police. “What was the study group for?”

“Philosophy.”

“I don’t blame you. Drink away.”

Sansa laughed and he felt like he was standing under the sun until he heard the door to his room open. Val came out. She was naked save for wearing one of his shirts. She was so petite, it hung down to her knees. 

“Hello.” Sansa greeted her. She was smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She turned to Jon. “I didn’t know you had company.”

“Likewise.” Val replied, and took his coffee and drank from it. 

Sansa’s smile faded slightly. “I live here.” Then, she offered her hand. “I’m Sansa.”

They shook hands, but her voice remained cool. “Val.”

“I’ll just…” Sansa gestured towards her bedroom. “Leave you to it.”

“Sister?” Val inquired, after her door shut.

“Roommate.”

She arched a brow at that. “She’s really young. And pretty.”

Jon bent his head down to hers. “And you’re really jealous.”

Val’s arms went around his neck. “Are you saying I don’t need to be?”

He slipped a hand between her legs and she gasped. “This is what I’m saying.”

He felt her up some more in the kitchen and they fucked one last time in his bedroom and she was considerably louder than she was last night and he knew that was purposeful. Eventually, she had to leave for brunch with her sister, so Jon let her. She gave him her number. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” Sansa said later on, when he was getting ready for work. His pager beeped. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

“ _Adult_ friend, then.” 

She said it in a light, teasing voice but her eyes were anything but. Jon couldn’t look at them. She continued.

“I’m not judging. She seems alright. If not a bit territorial.”

“Well, it’s not you who’s sleeping with her is it?”

His words came out harsher than intended, but he could not help himself. He felt like a chastised child who had been caught being unruly. He felt raw and pink under her stare. Being near Sansa usually felt like he was standing underneath the sun, but it never felt like this. Like he was burning.

Her face shuttered off. “No. Guess not.”

She left for her room, again. He wanted to call after her. He didn’t. She slept in her own bed that night, and every single one that came after. 

* * *

The swelling in Sansa’s brain took two days to fade. Dr. Cassel was confident enough to take her off the drugs and wake her up. It took three days for her to wake up. Jon knew what happened before anyone told him. He had a feeling. But he didn’t go see her.

Not for days. Instead, he busied himself with making phone calls to colleagues he knew stateside that specialized in physical therapy, and inspecting just how much time he had off at Eastwatch—a lot, as it turned out, since he never took a sick day. In the meantime, Benjen updated him on her prognosis. Health and mood wise.

“She ate today.” Benjen informed him, three days after she woke up. “Flavored ice chips and pudding.”

She was sounding like herself again, at least. He shook his head. “Sweet things.” 

“That’s our girl.” Benjen half smiled. 

“And there’s still no sign of any chest infections? Pneumonia?”

“Dr. Cassel put her on antibiotics just in case.”

“That’s good.” Jon muttered, even though it didn’t satisfy him any. “And you have to make sure she drinks water, too. Lots of it. No juice or gatorade, she isn’t five. She can stomach some real food, while she’s at it.”

“You could tell her this.” Benjen pointed out.

Jon didn’t answer. He bit the inside of his cheek hard. He knew the moment he saw her again, all words would fail him. 

“Has she asked for me?”

Benjen’s look of contentment faded as he gave a weighted pause. “She isn’t really speaking.” He scratched his chin. “But I’m sure she would talk to you if you came to see her.”

She isn’t really speaking. That worried him more than her sugar intake. He continued to mull over it for the rest of the day. He was going to visit her, and see for himself, but he lingered by the door like a coward.

Catelyn and Robb were inside, conversing quietly. They faced each other. Sansa must have been asleep. The curtains around her bed were drawn. In that moment, Jon would have done anything for a glimpse of her.

“What happens after we get out of here?” Catelyn said. “She’s not walking up a staircase anytime soon, so going home is out of the option.”

“You have the guest bedroom downstairs.” Robb pointed out.

“Grandpa is staying, there. in the guest bedroom downstairs.”

“Oh. Right.”

They remained silent, until Robb spoke up again. “I’d take her, but we don’t have the space. And she wouldn’t get much rest with the girls around.”

“It’s alright.” She sighed. “They don’t understand.”

Jon knew they didn’t understand, either.

“Mrs. Stark.” He cleared his throat, announcing his presence. Both Robb and Catelyn turned. He braced himself for rejection. “I think I could help. If you let me.”

* * *

Arianne and Benjen bought a cottage up in Castle Black after they got married. It was where they spent their honeymoon. Jon had been there, once. That was where him and Sansa would stay. 

Castle Black happened to also be the home of Melisandre Asshai’s practice. He scoured the east coast for any other physical therapist, but she was simply the best. Jon knew that already, because she had used it as a pickup line when they fucked a few years back, but he tried in vain to find someone else. He prefered not to run into an old flame again, but he’d do what he had to do for Sansa. 

It wasn’t originally planned for him to be the one to stay with Sansa—more of a contingency. But Catelyn couldn’t make a five hour drive from Castleblack to Boston every day, and manage to take care of Rickon and her father. And she didn’t trust a random nurse with her daughter. Besides—Jon put the plan together. It was only right he saw it through.

The next day, Sansa received a new visitor. It was a man. He was tall, and blonde, and he brought flowers. The shirt underneath his sweater was crisply ironed and starched. He was also on a first name basis with Catelyn. She embraced him, and when he entered Sansa’s room, she gave them time alone.

“Who’s he?” Jon cornered Arianne not so discreetly near a vending machine. His chest was burning.

Arianne tapped the keypad and gave him a rather venomous glare. “If you actually went to _see_ her, maybe you’d know.”

“ _Arianne_.”

“ _Jon_.” 

They stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Arianne’s snack fell into the opening. An oatmeal pie. She took it out, not looking at him. “His name is Edric.”

His stomach bottomed out. “Boyfriend?”

Arianne hesitated. “I’m not sure anymore.”

It wasn’t the best answer, but it was something. Yet the longer Edric stayed in that room, the more his confidence in the answer wavered. 

“Why does it matter to you?” Arianne lifted her chin to meet his eyes.

Jon turned, and began to make his way down the hall, away from her, rather than answer her. Still, she called after him, voice slightly raised.

“Your wife called me.”

He stopped walking. He could feel her come up behind him. 

“Soon to be ex wife, apparently.” She grabbed his elbow so they faced each other again. Her dark eyes were warm and concerned.

Jon shook them off. “I’m sorry she bothered you.”

“I’m sorry you even married her.” 

They stood, quiet. Jon felt like a vulnerable child under her stare, even though she was shorter than him and didn’t look angry in the slightest. Just concerned. 

“She thinks you’re gonna come back to her.” Arianne says. “Is that true?”

He knew the answer right then, in his bones. But he was too ashamed to admit it. He averted his eyes. “I can’t bring myself to care about anything like that, right now.”

“If you care about her, you’d make a decision.” Arianne urged him, insistent and gentle. “And you do care about her, Jon. You love her.”

He knew she wasn’t talking about Val. 

She covered his hand with hers. “Go see her. Please.”

Jon thought of Edric behind that door. He wanted to go in there. 

But then he thought of Sansa, behind that curtain. 

He didn’t say anything.

He walked away. 

* * *

After he started sleeping with Val, Sansa was asked out by a surgeon trainee at the hospital named Willas. He invited her to the Valentine’s Day mixer. It pissed Jon off. He didn’t want to admit why—not to himself.

But two weeks after the 14th, Sansa’s 22nd birthday was approaching. Mya and Myranda wanted to throw her a surprise party, and asked Jon to distract her. He was eager to take the opportunity. They hadn’t really talked properly since the night of the mixer, dancing on eggshells around each other. He was sick of it. He wanted things to be normal again. 

“I have the day off.” Jon told her that morning. “Let’s spend it together.”

Sansa was resting her chin on the top of her knee, nursing a cup of steaming tea. She was wearing one of his sweatshirts. Her hair was in those messy french braids he liked so much. She stifled a yawn with a manicured hand. “Is this your apology, then?”

Jon narrowed his eyes at her incredulously. “What for?”

She narrowed her eyes right back. “For being like _that_ about Willas.”

He nearly clenched his jaw, but kept himself from doing so. “I wasn’t any kind of way about Willas, considering he’s completely insignificant to me.”

She snorted, and rose from her seat, making to storm off, but he stopped her, hand on the tail of her sweatshirt, pride sitting like bile in his throat. 

“But if you felt like I was acting a certain way—” Jon swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest. “That was an abysmal apology.”

His mouth twitched, but he staved it off before turning her to face him, hands on her hips.

“Please?”

Her bottom lip poked out, and she nodded.

So they spent the morning and the afternoon shopping. He bought her a new winter coat because the zipper on the one she wore regularly broke, and a faux fur hat she got multiple compliments on. He didn’t complain once as she dragged him from store to store. He was happy to see her happy. And shopping made her happy. 

“Come up.” She nodded towards Mya’s flat. She still thought she was walking into a movie night. “You know they adore you.”

“I would, but I have plans.” Jon lied. The last place he wanted to be was at a party. 

“Oh.” Her smile dimmed.

“Nothing as exciting as a movie night, I promise. Just go have fun, _mo chridhe._ ”

The term slipped out without meaning to. His face felt hot. Something he heard his stepfather whisper in his mother’s ear as he swayed her back and forth in their small kitchen and she giggled. They were the tenderest words for the tenderest of feelings and it forced him to realize that that was exactly what he felt when he was around her. Tender, like a fresh bruise.

“But I already had fun today.” Sansa bit her lip. “With you.”

Jon couldn’t breathe. Her eyes threatened to pull him in. The birthmark on the underside of her jaw; he wanted to kiss it. He wanted to kiss her. Very badly. The realization hit him with such force, he had to look away from her.

“I mean—you so much money on me today.” Her voice was airy, but her laughter was forced. She looked away from him. “I haven’t been spoiled like that since I was a kid.”

“It’s almost your birthday.” He said, uncomfortable. “You deserve nice things.”

“You remembered?”

She looked genuinely surprised to hear it. Jon couldn’t fathom it—how on earth could she think she was forgettable?

“Of course I did.”

Sansa stared at him for a long time, mouth parted. Then she left the car without another word. 

The next time he saw her was when he picked her up. It was three in the morning, and she called him for a ride, wasted. He had to help her out of the car, and into the house.

“Did you know?” Her words ran together, tripping over each other like her feet would have, if he wasn’t carrying her.

“Partly.”

“You lied to me?”

“I would tell you sorry, but it seems like you had a lot of fun. So I’m not.”

Sansa giggled uncontrollably, so hard her body shook. She didn’t stop until the door was locked behind them. He carried her to her room.

“You should have come.” She rested her forehead against his collarbone. “It would have been way more fun with you there.”

“I’m not one for parties anyway.” Jon set her down on the bed.

Sansa managed to sit up on her own. She leaned down to unzip her boots. Jon took over for her. She watched him.

“Were you with Val?” 

“No.” Jon frowned. “What made you think I was?”

“You said you had plans.”

“Those plans didn’t involve her.”

“Oh.” She smiled. It was a relieved smile that made his stomach flip. “That’s good.”

Jon set her boots neatly under her bed, silent.

“Willas didn’t come tonight.”

He looked up at her so fast his neck cracked. “You invited him?”

“No.” Sansa shook her head, and her earrings swung back and forth. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

It was his turn to feel relieved. “Why?”

“Because you told me to stop.”

He managed to not say a word but his heart was beating so fast it hurt. His skin felt too hot.

But then there was the coolness of Sansa’s palms, cupping his face. Her nose was so close to his. Her eyes were dark. 

“I’d do anything you wanted me to.”

_Stop_. He wanted to say. He should have said it. His tongue couldn’t move. She was so close to him. She smelled so good. He was remembering how her body felt in his arms—soft and warm.

“And you can do whatever you want to me.” Sansa whispered. “Can Val say that?”

He thought of exactly what he wanted to do to her. He wanted to make her moan and he wanted to make her _cry_ and—

His voice was rough and choked when he spoke. “Don’t compare yourself to Val.” 

“Why?” Her mouth was glossy in the dark. “Do you like her more than me? Is that why you let her sleep in the bed with you?”

Jon grabbed her hands, trying to pull them away, but they just kept coming back. He didn’t fight her all that hard. He was too weak.

He closed his eyes. “I don’t like anyone more than you.”

He felt her sharp intake of breath. He still didn’t open his eyes. Not even when her mouth brushed his. It was soft, like everything else was about her. She kissed him very gently, and he let her. He was weak enough to let her. 

It felt so right, he couldn’t pull away immediately. Not with her body pressed against his and their mouths slanted together perfectly. A cache of fireworks exploded at the base of his spine, behind his eyes. He wanted more already. He needed more.

But Jon turned away so that his face was in her neck. He breathed heavily. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Sansa gasped, wriggling closer to get her mouth on his again. 

“Because.” He said it so loudly and harshly that she flinched, and stopped moving. That was when he pulled away. Her blue eyes were wide, and shined with hurt. His chest ached. 

“Because of Val?” She whispered. 

_Because you’re too young. Because you’re too good. Because one day you’ll realize that, and walk away, resenting me, and I’ll spend the rest of life recovering from it and missing you._

Jon didn’t answer. 

“She doesn’t love you.” Her voice was small and cracked. 

_Love._ The word made his palms sweat and his throat thick and it was impossible to look at her in that moment. 

“Not all of us are looking for love.” He forced himself to say. 

“If you were…...I’d give it to you.”

His stomach soared and plummeted at once, and he shook his head. She still continued, as her words wavered.

“I love you—”

“ _Stop._ ” He said it as a shout and a demand and he forced himself to step away from her. He looked away from her. 

“I’m telling the truth.” He knew she was crying without looking at her face.

_You’re being cruel. You’re ruining us. You’re ruining me._

His fists were clenched at his side. 

“If you really love me, then don’t tell me that again.”

And he left.

* * *

After two years, Jon still knew how she took her coffee.

Light. Three sugars and lots of creamer. He also knew that she did not actually like coffee. She only drank it when she had to, and because he did. And she never complained. The morning he went to see her, he got her hot chocolate, instead. With lots of whipped cream. And an iced slice of lemon pound cake. It was a better alternative to the bland hospital breakfast. He set it on her tray. It was 8 in the morning. 

She was beginning to stir. Jon was frozen. He contemplated leaving, but he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. All he could do was watch her eyes flutter open, and then watch them meet his. She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t look like she felt anything at his presence at all.

Now that he was looking at her, he couldn’t look away. There were dark bruises under her eyes and her shoulders were hunched and she didn’t even bother to lift her cheek up from the pillow. He was relieved and crushed all at the same time.

“You’re alright,” he said to himself, more than her. It was a reminder. “You’re alright, now.”

Sansa just kept looking at him. 

“I—I brought you breakfast.” Once he started talking to her, he could not stop. “I don’t know if the lemoncake is as good as the one from home—but I thought you’d like it.”

She looked at the ceiling, instead. 

Jon sat on the edge of the bed. His chest felt like it was being caved in. He reached for her cheek. Sansa closed her eyes, but didn’t turn away. 

“Please.” He said, even though he wasn’t sure what he was begging for.

Her eyes were shining with tears when she opened them, and Jon pulled her into his arms. She held onto him tight.

“Don’t go.” She sniffled into his shoulder, as he laid her down. Her breathing was starting to slow. He knew she was getting sleepy again.

“I won’t.” Jon promised, and laid right beside her. The bed was barely big enough for both of them, but he didn’t mind. All that mattered was that she was in his arms.

He stayed there long after her eyes closed, and her body relaxed. He didn’t know how long he had been there. Just that he didn’t want to leave. Catelyn came in, and he knew at least an hour had passed. 

Jon moved to leave, but she shook her head. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Stay awhile longer.” She told him. “She hasn’t slept like this in awhile.”

He was surprised, but he stayed.

Catelyn shut the door behind her.

* * *

Jon had foolishly hoped that since she had been kind enough to ignore it earlier, that Catelyn wouldn’t question his relationship with Sansa. But he also knew she was just biding her time. 

“She’s in love with you.”

Jon was outside smoking when Catelyn found him. He had been ticking down the seconds until she did. He hadn’t been counting long. She stood behind him, her collar turned up to fight against the cold.

“I knew when she came back, that her heart was broken.” She rubbed her hands together. “I didn’t know it was you who did it.”

And what could he say to that? Sorry?

“But you’re in love with her, too.” Catelyn looked at him. Her eyes were searching. “Aren’t you?”

His throat felt thick, so he just nodded.

“Arianne said nothing happened between you two. That you wouldn’t let it. I believe her. I trust her.” 

_I don’t trust you._ She didn’t need to say it. He could hear it in her words. And he didn’t blame her.

“I have no choice but to trust the love you have for her. I have no choice but to trust that it’s enough—” Her voice broke. “That it’s enough to bring her back, because I don’t know how. I don’t think she wants to live anymore. And I can’t keep forcing her. I can’t—”

Jon grabbed her hand, unthinking. As if that would take her pain away, as if that would lessen it some. His eyes were burning and his heart was aching and he knew that Catelyn understood more than he originally thought. 

“She never stopped blaming herself for her father, or Jeyne. She just learned how to hide it better.” Catelyn wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I think you know that. I think you know her better than I do—and I hate that. I hate it so much. You don’t know how it feels—to realize that you’re not the best person to care for your baby.”

It was killing her. Jon saw that now. He saw it in the way her shoulders sagged and her hand gripping his and the firm set line of her mouth. 

“You came all this way. You left your wife. You did it all for her. All so you could take care of her.” She sat up a little straighter. “So just promise me you’ll do that. You’ll take care of her.”

“I promise.” He said immediately.

“I’m not asking you to heal her, or put her back together again. But she’ll listen to you. She’ll talk to you.”

Jon thought of the very last time he saw Sansa, at the flat. When all the wrong things came out of his mouth. She would remember those things. How could she forgive him?

“Okay.” He said.

Catelyn squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

  
  


* * *

It was easier to be around Sansa with Catelyn’s permission. He didn’t feel like he was hiding anything. Every day, he came to sit with her. Most days, she didn’t talk. It was just enough to be around her. He hoped it was enough for her, too.

But one day, she was picking at another loaf of lemon cake. She was resting after the physical therapist came to see her. They were watching a movie. She said, out of nowhere, “I don’t wanna go.”

Jon didn’t know what she was talking about. “Go where?”

“To Castle Black.” She said it very quietly. “I don’t want to.”

They told her. Of course they had to, eventually. Dr. Cassel was talking about releasing her soon. Catelyn was finishing up the paperwork. Soon, they’d be off.

“You have to go. It’s the only way you’re gonna get better.” He told her patiently. 

“There are plenty of physical therapists here.” She insisted.

“But they aren’t Dr. Asshai. And even if they were as good as her, you don’t have anywhere to stay up here. You can’t go home.”

“Edric said I could stay with him.”

Jon clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. 

  
  


“His place is only one floor.” She continued. “And he said he’d drive me to my appointments. That way, you won’t have to take off work and you can go back to London, and—”

“No.”

Sansa frowned. “But—”

“You’re not staying with Edric.” He said. “You’re coming with me. We already have a plan. We’re sticking to it.”

Her face darkened. He watched her dainty fists ball up at her sides and her brow furrow and her cheeks flush. Her voice raised.

“What about Val? Is she a part of the plan? Will you bring her with us? Are we gonna be a big happy family—”

“ _Stop.”_

That was all it took for her to fall silent. She did so obediently, but not willingly. He saw in her eyes that she never hated him more than she did in this moment. 

He couldn’t afford to care. Not if he was gonna help her.

“You’re gonna let me take care of you.” He said. “You can hate me, you can despise me, but you will get better. Understand?”

Sansa glared at him.

He took the fork from her hand, and speared a piece of cake. He held it in front of her face. “Eat.”

Her mouth closed around the tines, and she swallowed submissively. 

Jon looked away.

* * *

It took a week after the kiss happened for them to actually talk about it. They couldn’t even be in the same room together. They repelled each other like magnets. She didn’t come home until way after dinner. He stayed nights over at Val’s place to avoid going home. She didn’t make him coffee anymore. Jon felt like he was slowly going insane. 

“Can’t we just forget about it?”

It came out desperate, when she was on her way out the door for her afternoon classes. She halted, hand lingering on the doorknob. 

She didn’t leave. That was progress, at least. 

“You were drunk.” He continued. “Can’t we just be normal? Nothing has to change.”

Sansa turned to face him. Her voice was tight. “Everything already has changed.”

He knew that. But they could still change it back. They had time. Lamely, he said, “I don’t want it to.”

“Maybe I do.” She lifted her chin, sucking in a trembling breath. “Maybe I’m tired of sitting on the couch and talking about nothing and making you breakfast so I can have a little bit of your mornings and meeting you for lunch so I can have some of your afternoons. Maybe I’m tired of doing all of these things to show you instead of telling you that I love you.”

Jon recoiled at the words, shaking his head. 

“I love you.” Sansa repeated.

“Stop.” He begged her. _Pleaded_ with her. “You can’t—we can’t—”

“Why?” She shouted.

“Because I don’t want to!” 

The lie tore from his throat, hot and scalding. But he couldn’t take it back. She looked as if he punched her. 

“You kissed me.” She whispered. “You kissed me back.”

“I shouldn’t have.” He said. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, then. And she moved towards the door again. He called after her.

“I need space.” The words came out choked. “Just give me some space.”

She slammed the door shut.

Jon gave her space for the next couple weeks. She spent her spring break in Ibiza with Mya and Myranda. She didn’t tell him when she was coming back. He just came home and found her in her room. 

“You’re home.” He said, stunned.

And she was. Lightly sunkissed, with new freckles. She didn’t smile when she saw him. That hurt. 

“I just came to get some things.” She shoved some more things in her bag. “I’m gonna stay with Mya for the rest of term.”

His heart fell on several flights. “You’re moving out?”

Sansa didn’t look at him. “I’ll still be around. Mya doesn’t have that much space. I’ll come get the rest of my things before summer.”

It dawned on him slowly, and horribly.

“You’re coming right back.”

“I got a job offer at a gallery in Boston. I’m gonna take it.”

Something ugly and awful is spreading through his chest. “When were you gonna tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.” She said it quite flippantly. 

“You said you wanted to stay in London.”

“It’s a bit expensive here.”

“I’d never make you leave.”

“I don’t want to stay.”

Jon pulled her by the arm, gently, and forced her to look at him. She did. Her cheeks were slightly pink. But her eyes were swimming with hurt and it made it hard to look at her. 

“What will it take for you to stay?” His throat was tight. 

“You know what.” She whispered. 

He could say it now. Three simple words, and he’d have her forever. Or as long as he possibly could until she moved on from him. Would it be worth it? Would it be better than never having her at all?

“I love you.” She told him again.

_For now._

Jon dropped her elbow. He looked away from her. “It’ll pass.”

A choked, raw sound left her mouth. And then she left, walking so fast out of the room. Only when the door closed, did he say, “I love you too.”

He leaned forward on the dresser to catch his breath. He saw something sparkling. The ring she always wore. The one he knew her dad gave her. He pocketed it, and promised to give it back to her the next time he saw her.

But he never saw her again.

* * *

A few hours before they were supposed to leave the hospital, his dad called. Jon answered. “What?”

“Do you remember what you told me once, Jon?” His voice was measured, clear, and clipped. Every consonant was sharpened with disdain. For life. For his son, most importantly. 

“I don’t strive to remember conversations with you, sorry.” Jon says. 

“You said you’d never turn out like me. Now look at you. Running from a dead marriage and into the arms of a girl nearly half your age. That doesn’t seem a bit familiar to you?”

Anger burned hot inside of him, but shame quickly followed it. Then doubt. He wondered what his mother would think. He didn’t want to find out.

“You called to gloat?” 

Rhaegar paused. It was a heavy, weighted pause. “You really think so lowly of me?”

Jon bit his tongue. 

“I called to warn you. “I’ve been down this path before. You see how it turned out for me.”

He cheated on his wife with a younger woman. That younger woman left him and got married to the love of her life, and had two more kids. Even his wife ended up happy—remarrying his best friend.

And he ended up alone.

“Don’t make the same mistake.” Rhaegar said. “Your wife is waiting for you at home. Go back to her while you still can.”

He looked down at his wedding ring. 

“I have to go.”

“Jon—”

He hung up, and tucked his phone into his pocket. He stood there for a long time, mind and heart racing. He knew what he should do.

But he was so tired of doing what he should do.

So he went up to Sansa’s room. Edric was on the bed beside her. Jon didn’t pay him any mind. All that mattered were Catelyn’s words—getting her better. Keeping her safe.

“Ready?” He said.

She nodded.

He never felt more sure of his choice.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The night is pitch black outside of the window. The cottage is far enough away from any smog or pollution that the stars are visible. They’re bright tonight. When Jon was younger, his mother used to tell him to wish on the brightest one. Stupidly, this is what he does now. He wishes for more time.

Time progresses differently in Castle Black. Faster, somehow. He feels like he has a giant clock hovering above his head, ticking away and threatening to take Sansa away from him again. They had already been here two weeks, and most of the first one, she spent angry at him. 

But things are different now. Now, he falls asleep with her in his arms. He wakes up beside her. He can kiss her whenever he wants. He can hold her whenever he wants. The freedom is starting to go to his head, so much so that sometimes, he’s dizzy with it. Other times, he’s frozen in fright because he would do anything to keep it. To keep her.

Jon hardly sleeps. He is too busy watching Sansa sleep. He could do that for hours, so often, that’s what he did. It never feels real that he’s with her—that he has been graced with the privilege of it. He’s foolishly afraid that one day, he will wake up and she’ll be gone.

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

Sansa’s entire voice vibrates through her body. He’s laying on her stomach, having just come up from between her legs. His mouth tangs with the taste of her. 

“I sleep sometimes.” He mumbles into her skin.

“Rarely.” Her fingers sift through his hair. Despite himself, his eyelids flutter shut. “You’re too busy watching me.”

Jon doesn’t deny it. He traces the dip of her hip bone instead. 

“I wouldn’t hurt myself with you around.” Her voice is quietly tentative, and embarrassed. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“It’s not that.” 

Sometimes, though, it was. When she had bad days. They had good days and bad, up here. Sometimes, the isolation helped. Sometimes, it worsened things.

Sansa doesn’t answer, and he thinks she doesn’t believe him.

Jon pulls himself up so he is beside her. He caresses the side of her face so her eyes meet his. So he can tell her things without having to say them.

He says, “I just don’t wanna waste anymore time.”

Her face softens in understanding. He knows her answer before she says it. “I know.”

* * *

The next morning, Jon takes Sansa to PT. She goes in alone. He is forcing himself to be okay with that. For an hour, he waits inside the car, with the heater fully blasted. He is fighting sleep when his phone rings. He looks at it. It’s his mother. He answers.

“You left the country without telling me?”

“I don’t need your permission, you know.” He leans against the headrest. “I haven’t for two decades now.”

“It would still be nice to know.” Lyanna argues. “What if I took the train to come see you?”

“You would never. You hate London.” 

“But I love you. And I especially _love_ not having to hear news from your father.”

Rhaegar called her, then. Probably to talk some sense into him. The first feeling that arises in him is anger, followed quickly by shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She sighs. “Just...tell me you’re okay.”

He looks once more at Volantis, and thinks of Sansa inside. He squeezes the steering wheel, and answers honestly. “I’m trying to be.”

“Is Sansa okay?”

Lyanna had never met Sansa. She hated London and he never brought Sansa down to visit. Jon preferred it that way. His mother liked things open and honest. He did not feel like being open nor honest about his feelings for Sansa. 

“Yeah. She’s well.” He struggled not to look at the building again.

“She better be. She’s got the best doctor in the world by her side.”

He hated when she did that. When she made him seem like some big shot. Like he was someone to be proud of. That was Meera. That was even Jojen. It was never him. It should never be. So he says nothing to that. 

“What else did Dad tell you?”

Lyanna remains quiet, and Jon knows that means: _too much._

“That your heart is in trouble because it’s so big.”

Jon gives a bitter sort of strangled laugh. “That sounds nothing like him.”

“But it’s true.” She insists. “You have a good heart, son. But it’s only ever belonged to one person. You know that as well as I. And so did Val when she got you to marry her.”

His throat tightens. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

“I know you were. She took advantage of that. It’s not all your fault, Jon. Go easy on yourself.”

“I have to go.”

“But—”

“Tell Howland I said hi.”

“Sure.” Lyanna says finally, sounding defeated. 

Jon hangs up. Talking to his mother usually puts him in a significantly better mood, but now he feels worse than before. He thinks of Val, and his vows to her. He thinks about why he made those vows in the first place. He should tell Sansa. He should tell her everything. Then she could decide for herself, once and for all, if he’s worth it.

In the corner of his eye, he watches the door of Volantis swing open. Sansa comes out, on her crutches. Jon puts down his phone and pulls the car out of the parking space and stops in front of the curb. He reaches over to open the door for her. She sighs at that.

“At least I didn’t come in to get you.” He points out, as she buckles her seatbelt.

She smiles at him, and relief chokes him, because he knows today is a good day and not a bad day.

“I’m proud of you.” She kisses him on the cheek.

The ride home is quiet, and content. Sansa holds his hand in her lap. Every time he has to use both hands to drive, he returns it right after. She rubs circles into his knuckles with her thumbs. It’s indescribably soothing.

“My mother asked after you.” He tells her. He doesn’t really know why. 

Sansa looks over at him. “You talked to her?”

“Yeah. Just now.”

She beams at him. “Does that mean she likes me, then?”

Jon laughs. “Of course she does. You’re impossible not to like.”

“You didn’t like me when we first met.”

That wasn’t completely true. From the moment he first saw her, he liked her too much. He tried to get rid of that feeling. He tried to put distance between them. He tried to ignore her, but she just kept getting closer and closer, until she was under his skin and there was no getting her out.

“I’m not normal.” He says, finally. 

Sansa kisses the back of his hand. “Normal people are overrated, anyway.”

* * *

Jon remembers the week before Sansa left in vivid technicolor. It was pure misery. After she went to stay with Mya, Arianne came by the flat unannounced. That was when Jon knew that she knew. 

“You have to stop her, Jon.”

His jaw clenched. He wanted to tell her he thought of doing so half a hundred times. He wanted to tell her that every single day, he was on the verge. But then he saw a group of 20 somethings stumbling out of a pub together, drunk and happy, or a young couple kissing over a cafe table. Sansa needed those things. She needed to experience life. She needed a chance to be young and stupid and have fun. She deserved it, after all she’s been through. He would not be the one to deprive her of it because of his heavy expectations from her.

So Jon poured himself a drink, and didn’t say any of those things. “She’s made her decision already.”

“Then make her change it.” Arianne insisted fiercely.

He continued to pour. Arianne snatched the bottle of scotch from him. Her dark eyes were wild, and hard. He wanted to cringe. He had never seen her so angry before. 

“I don’t understand you! Don’t you love her?”

He drank his scotch until it burned his throat more than hearing the word love burned him. Then he coughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please. You look at her like she’s your entire bloody world, Jon.” 

His heart felt heavy. He didn’t have the strength to deny it anymore. But he couldn’t admit it aloud, either. 

“And you’re _hers_. You know you are. So why are you treating her like this? Why are you pushing her away?”

“As opposed to what?” He snapped. “Riding off into the sunset with her temporarily and forcing her to settle down early? Making her regret me later on?”

“That’s what this is about? Age?” Arianne sounded incredulous.

She made it sound as if he was being stupid. It made him furious. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You don’t recall the tantrum my father threw when he found out about Benjen?”

“That had more to do with the fact that he thought Benjen was poor than him being 12 years older than you.”

Besides, Benjen was not old enough to be Arianne’s father—albeit a young one. He didn’t attend Arianne’s christening. 

“If it’s optics you’re worried about—”

“I’m worried about _her_. She needs someone who can give her more than I can give her, Arianne.”

She deserved it. She deserved so much, but was so willing to deprive herself of it. He wouldn’t be an excuse for her. 

“But she wants you.” Arianne pointed out. 

“For now.” Jon said. “She’ll find someone else.” 

Someone good. Someone who she could stay out all night with until the sun came up. Someone who could encourage her to be bold and brave. Someone who wasn’t so old and jaded. Someone who didn’t need her so much. 

“And what about you?” Arianne asked. “What’ll happen to you?”

He would continue without her. He would try to move on, and fail. No one could come after her, and possibly match up. But that was fine. He’d learn to be fine. As long as she was happy.

* * *

Catelyn comes up to Castle Black with Rickon that Friday. Robb and Jeyne bring their daughters. Sansa is so happy to see her nieces that she cries, and Jon is happy that she’s happy. He knows that when they couldn’t make it last week, it was rough on her. 

“She looks better.” Catelyn observes.

Jenny and Minisa are taking turns drawing on Sansa’s cast, and Rickon is entertaining Serena by chasing her around in the garden outside. Robb and Jeyne are watching them, while drinking their tea. But Catelyn is in the kitchen with Jon, helping him wash dishes from their lunch.

“She’s been taking her meds and going to her appointments.” He informs her. “She’s doing well.”

She nods, but doesn’t say anything. They continue like this, in a silence that’s so uncomfortable that it threatens to crush him. 

“You're sleeping with her.”

Jon stops moving.

“Your things are in her room. And there’s nowhere else for you to sleep. You guys must sleep together at night.”

He dries a dish clumsily. “The couch is a pullout.” 

“Do you use it?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I just want her to be happy again.” Catelyn braces her hands against the sink. “And I appreciate all that you’ve done for her. But if you hurt her—I’ll kill you. Understand?”

For some reason, this threat makes him feel a lot better. It’s blunt and concise and not short of anything he deserves. “Yes.”

He’s about to move to return to their room, when Catelyn calls his name. He turns to face her only to be greeted with a hug. It jars him. 

“Thank you. For taking care of her.” Her voice is tearful, and she squeezes him tightly. 

Jon nods, but he feels horrible once again receiving a kindness he feels like he doesn’t deserve.

* * *

The Starks head back to Winterfell the next morning. There isn’t enough time for them to stop by for breakfast, because the roads are a wreck. Jon is secretly glad. The moment he wakes up, he knows in his bones today will be a bad day. He hates that as the rest of the day progresses, he is proven right.

Sansa doesn’t leave bed. He brings her breakfast and lunch, but both remain untouched. Her tea goes cold several times, because he keeps pouring her a fresh cup hoping foolishly that maybe this time, she’ll drink it. She doesn’t.

He’s never felt so useless, as he sits beside her in bed. He strokes her hair and she doesn’t even react. He keeps doing it to remind himself that she’s still here. Her back is turned towards him.

“What can I do?” He isn’t sure if he’s asking her or himself.

“Everything hurts.” She whispers.

“If you eat, I can give you something for the pain.”

“I’m tired of pills.”

“They’ll make you feel better—”

“Nothing makes me feel better,” Her voice breaks.

Jon holds her as she cries, as her breaths go shaky and helpless. He holds her until his own eyes burn. He holds her tightly, as if to keep her from drifting away from him. After awhile, she stops crying. He can’t tell if it’s because she feels better or simply because she’s ran out of tears. 

He runs her a bath, and coaxes her in. He washes her hair, and her body and he talks to her because he can’t bear the silence. He talks about London, and their flat, and how things used to be. 

“Do you remember when I got the flu? I didn’t wanna stay home from work, but you called the chief without even telling me.”

Jon is rinsing the suds out of her hair. Sansa is allowing him to do so without dissent. She is still not talking.

“Then you forced me back into bed. I was so angry at you,” He shakes his head.“But I was delirious with fever, hallucinating, and completely incomprehensible. So you forgave me.” _Like you always do,_ he wants to say. He takes the dry washcloth, and wipes at her face, “You took care of me just like this, remember?”

She closes her eyes.

“You stayed with me in bed all day, and we watched the surgery tapes I had because you thought they would make me feel better.” He swallows around the hard lump in his throat, forcing his voice to keep steady. “You sang to me. You used to sing so much, remember?”

He’s begging her, at this point. For something. Anything. Just an inch. But she isn’t budging. She isn’t doing so to be so cruel, he tries to remind himself. She just can’t. All he can do is be patient. Like she always is with him.

“I liked that one song. The one you always sing to Jenny and Minisa and Serena. The one about the moon. How does it go?”

Sansa shrugs weakly. It’s better than nothing, so he struggles to remember the lyrics as he washes her back, singing them under his breath, secretly hoping she’ll sing along.

_“I’m lying on the moon…”_

He moves the loofah over the back of her neck and her arms as he continues. Her shoulders hunch, as if she’s trying to protect herself from the world. From him. Something inside of him breaks as he feels his eyes sting. He pulls away. 

He can’t afford to fall apart now, not when she needs him. But seeing her like this is chipping away at him. Not knowing how to make her feel better is killing him. Jon bites his tongue. She doesn’t need to hear him cry.

_Just tell me what to do,_ he wants to beg her selfishly. _Just come back to me._ His hand is shaking. He pulls away from her so she doesn’t feel it, clenching his hands into fists. The silence is so thick it suffocates him. He breathes slowly, in and out. 

_“But with you, my dear, I’m safe..”_

Sansa began to sing so quietly that he thinks he’s imagining it, at first. But he isn’t. Her voice, even at its weakest, is unmistakable. It’s not much, but she’s trying. She’s trying for him.

He pushes her hair behind her ears, forcing himself to keep singing. “ _And we’re a million miles away.”_

There are no more lyrics to sing. That’s it. But she leans against him, and Jon can’t help but feel like he’s accomplished something. He rinses her body, and drains the bathtub.

Later on, they’re in bed. He’s holding her close, and she’s holding him back. His cheek rests against the crown of her head. Her hair is still damp, but he doesn’t care.

“I made you cry.” Sansa’s voice cracks. 

Jon isn’t sure what he can say to that. He feels ashamed. 

“I’ve made you cry loads of times.” He murmurs. “Now we’re even.”

She doesn’t laugh as he hoped she would, but her breathing slows a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t control, _mo chridhe._ Ever. Understand?”

“I used to.” She whispers. “I used to be able to control it. I used to be okay.”

“You don’t have to be okay all of the time.” Jon tells her. “You’re allowed to be vulnerable. You’re allowed to let yourself be taken care of. That’s what I’m here for.”

Sansa looks up at him. Her eyes are rimmed red. “What if you get sick of taking care of me?”

“That’ll never happen.” 

“It will if I’m always like this.” Her tone is bitter and acidic, but her lower lip trembles. “What if you have to take care of me forever?”

Tears slip down her cheeks. Jon wipes them away. 

“Then I’ll take care of you longer than that.” He promises her. 

Sansa reaches up to cup his cheek, wordless. She doesn’t need to say anything at all. He knows she doesn’t believe him, but only for now. He hopes that one day she will.

* * *

It was nearing the day that Sansa was supposed to leave London, when Jon came home one day to find Myranda and Mya in her room. It didn’t even look like Sansa’s room anymore. All of her things were gone from her dresser. The closet was empty. The mattress was bare. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be home until later.” Mya looked at him as if he was a dirty rodent in a clean kitchen. “We’re almost finished here.”

Jon’s chest felt like it had a huge, gaping hole in it. “She couldn’t come back to get her own things?”

“She’s busy.” Mya pushed past him rather coldly. 

She didn’t want to see him. Not even one last time. Not ever again. The knowledge hurt. “Is she okay? Is she—”

“Like you care.” 

“Mya.” Myranda gave her a chastising sort of look. 

Mya just glared at him, then her. “I’ll be outside.” Then she slammed the front door behind her. 

“She’s okay.” Myranda said, when she was sure Mya was gone. Her face, in contrast, was a bit more gentle and even pitying. “You’re not, though.”

Jon tried not to flinch. 

“She really misses you, you know.”

“She wouldn’t have to if she stayed.” It came out gruffer than he intended it to. 

“Then ask her to.” 

Myranda said it as if it was simple, just like Arianne did. He hated it. 

“I can’t give her what she needs.”

“You could try.” 

Not if he wanted what was best for her. Not if he actually loved her. 

Jon reached into his pocket, and pulled Sansa’s ring. He kept it with him at all times. He told himself that it was just in case he ran into her, but deep down, he knew better. He held it out. “Can you give this to her? When you see her?”

Myranda looked at his hand, then shook her head. She tossed the bag over her shoulder. “No. That’s your job.” 

He was staring after her, dumbfounded, when she turned to look back at him. She was halfway out the door.

“Her flight is at four this sunday. You have time.”

Sunday. That was two days away. Two days, and he’d lose her forever. “Time for what?”

Her dark eyes softened. “To try.”

Try. He kept thinking about that word. Try. What would that look like? He’d get to wake up next to her everyday. He’d get to hold her. He’d get to prove to her that she made the right decision. Maybe they’d last. Maybe she wouldn’t regret him. Maybe they could be happy. Maybe. It wasn’t a sure thing. Nothing was ever a sure thing—he knew that more than anyone. There was as much of a chance of Sansa being happier without him. That was a maybe, too. And it was her choice. Even if she regretted him later—at least he would have had her for a little while.

Jon lasted until Sunday. He wasn’t gonna stop her. He wasn’t gonna go see her. But then he looked over at the clock. 3:30. A different kind of panic stretched inside of his chest. Half an hour to go and he’d lose her forever. He’d never see her again. 

Then he was grabbing his keys and walking towards the door. He let the ridges bite into his palm. Pain didn’t clear his mind or change it. He couldn’t just let her go. Jon made it all the way into the elevator. 

Val was inside. 

“Can we talk?” Her face was pale and ashen.

If he was a superstitious person, he would have seen this as a sign. He wasn’t. And even if he was, he decided he wasn’t going to read it. 

“I’m on my way out, actually.”

She looked surprised to see him stepping inside, and hitting the button for the first floor. “Right now?”

“Yes.” It was 3:40. His palms were sweating. “Can it wait?”

Val paused. “No.”

Jon didn’t answer. He was too busy watching the floor count dwindle, fumbling with the strap of his watch. 6..5...4..3..2...

“Jon.” 

The elevator stopped. He moved to leave—not bothering with an apology, or a half baked rain check, or anything else, but she stopped him. 

“I’m pregnant.”

The door whirred open. Jon didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

“Are you sure?”

“I went to the doctor.” Val nodded like a queasy looking bobblehead. “I thought I had food poisoning. It wasn’t supposed to be—I’m six weeks.”

The door closed again. Nobody new came in. He couldn’t find the words to speak. 

Val jammed a button—the one that stopped the entire elevator mid ascension. She had a strangely stubborn look on her face. 

“It’s yours.”

Mine. His stomach roils. He shoved his hands in his pockets as if he could stuff his entire body inside. 

“What do you want to do?”

She looked surprised at his inquiry. She crossed her arms over her chest, and she looked very small. “I didn’t think I….I thought I ran out of time, you know?”

His heart sank. “Yeah.”

Val looked up at him, chewing on her lower lip. “What are you thinking about?”

How it was 3:45. How Sansa was getting on a plane that moment. How she never had to ask him what he was thinking, because she always knew. How no one wanted to be a stepmother at 22. How his father was faced with the same exact choice once, and he chose wrong.

Jon took off his watch. It was starting to hurt to look at it. “My mum.” He lied. “She’s probably gonna pass out when I tell her.”

Pure relief broke out on Val’s face. She expected him to be pissed—to be angry at her. All he could be was angry at himself. This was his choice. 

“My sister never thought I’d get married, let alone pregnant.” She choked out a laugh. “We’re doing things a bit out of order.”

Married. That was what people his age did. Not pine after 20 year olds and entertain stupid dreams. 

“I guess so.” He heard himself say.

* * *

Over the next couple days, Sansa slowly starts improving. She nibbles at the food he puts in front of her. She drinks her tea. She gets out of bed. She’s not doing cartwheels, but she’s so much better. And he’s proud of her for it.

Later on, Catelyn calls, and Sansa asks him to tell her that she’s asleep, so that’s what he does. Jon knows it’s no coincidence that she started acting like this after her family showed up. 

“Do you not want them to come this weekend?” He asks her, after he hangs up.

“It’s not that.” She mumbles. “It’s not their fault. I loved seeing them. But I hated that they were seeing me. Especially like this. I feel like I’ve failed them.”

“You haven’t failed anybody.” 

“How do you know? Have you asked them?”

“Have you?”

Sansa shakes her head stubbornly. Jon leans into her, tipping her chin up with just a finger. 

“They love you. Just like I do. That’s how I know. Okay?”

She looks as if she’s about to object. She doesn’t. She holds his hand instead. Jon thinks that might be progress, too.

The next day, they leave the house because she has to go to physical therapy. Sansa doesn’t object to him walking her in this time, and Jon is glad. He waits for her to finish up in the waiting room. The appointment stretches longer than usual. 

He asks her in the car, “How was today?”

“I hurt all over.” She’s sweaty and tired, and she’s fumbling with her cast. “I think your girlfriend is a sadist.”

“She’s not a sadist. She knows what she’s doing, Sansa. You have to trust the process.”

“So she is your girlfriend, then?”

Jon clenches his jaw. “You’re starting with that again, are you?”

A moment in which neither of them talk passes. Then she leans her head on his shoulder, hand on his.

“I’m just cranky.” She mumbles. “Don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “I’m never mad at you.” 

“So you’re just mad around me, a lot.”

“Don’t take it personally. I’ve been told I’m a naturally grumpy person.”

“You are.” Sansa agrees. “But it’s a part of your charm.”

Jon snorts, and he catches her smiling. It punches a hole straight through his chest. A day without one of those smiles was simply too long. 

“How do you feel today?” He asks gently.

She knows what he’s talking about, although it takes her awhile to answer. “Better.” She says at last. “Some days are good and some days are bad.”

_I don’t want you to have any more bad days,_ he wants to say to her. But he knows that’s asking for too much, and that from then on, she would do everything in her power to never let him see her like that again. 

“You should see someone. Talk about it.”

Beside him, Sansa stiffens.

“I’m talking to you about it.”

“Once in a blue moon.”

“It’s not your problem.” She pulls away from him. “Why should I bother you?”

“You’re not bothering me.” Jon looks over at her. “Taking care of you never bothers me. We’ve talked about this.”

She remains silent, staring out the window.

He doesn’t speak again until their home, and he can give her his full attention. The car is parked. Neither of them have moved to leave it. Jon hesitates, but he takes her hand.

“I just—I want you to be happy. It makes me happy when you’re happy.”

Sansa releases a shaky breath, eyes squeezed shut. “Is this an order, then?”

“I can’t force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

She looks at him then, shaking her head. “Yes, you can.”

She turns her back on him, reaching for her crutches, and he knows the conversation is over.

* * *

They have spaghetti for dinner, and they eat in silence. She takes the medicine he hands her wordlessly. Eventually, Jon can’t take the quiet anymore, so he decides to take a shower rather than bear it any longer. 

When he gets out, Sansa is in the window seat. She showered before he did. Her hair is still wet. She’s resting her chin on her shoulder, staring off into the distance. Jon brushes his fingers along the back of her neck tentatively. A moment passes, before she leans into his touch. His sigh of relief is louder than his heart in his chest.

“I would never force you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” He tells her. “Especially this. I just...I want you to think about it. That’s all. Okay?”

She nods. 

There is more that he wants to tell her. He needs her to understand that it’s the same for him, that the hold she has over him isn’t quite something he can understand. That he would do anything she asked him to, without limit or hesitation. But Jon has never been good at words. He supposes that is why they are where they are now. 

“I love you. Do you know that?”

Her hand is on his wrist, thumb rubbing against his pulse. “I know.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.”

“It’s okay.”

It isn’t. He wishes she wouldn’t forgive him so easily. A part of him is anxious to tell her the truth now, so that she’ll see him for who he really is. But the rest of him, the selfish part of him, just wants her to keep seeing him as she does now. 

Sansa looks up at him. “Will you kiss me, now?”

Jon kisses her softly, but she kisses him like it’s been days and not hours since their last. An aching hunger blooms inside of him. She pulls at the towel wrapped around his waist and it drops to the floor. He takes her to bed. 

“We should rest.” He’s hovering above her. “You said everything hurts.”

She parts her legs just so he can fit between them. Her breath is hot against his neck. “You can make it better.”

Her hand brushes his cock and his hips rock jerk at their own accord, rocking into her. Sansa gasps, but he knows it’s the good kind when her hand moves to his lower back, urging him closer.

She begs him, “Don’t stop.”

He can feel how wet she is, right through her underwear, and he fully stops breathing for seconds at a time. He doesn’t stop. Just rubbing against her, knowing he’s making her feel good, makes him so hard he can’t even think straight. All that matters are the sounds she’s making, and her arms around him, and her breaths getting progressively heavier. Her eyelids flutter shut, and he kisses them, knuckles brushing over where she needs him most in a practiced, tight circle.

He knows when she comes because her whole body tenses, and she makes this sound, like she’s got a breath stuck in her throat and he lingers in it a moment, replaying it over and over in his mind.

Jon is about to leave her when she strokes him again, as if she senses this. She’s looking at him, eyes heavy lidded. Her voice is soft. “Keep going.”

It’s as if she knows exactly how to break him. Every time he moves against her, her breath hitches in a way that makes his eyes close and her mouth is right up against his ear, soft and wet. He pulls her back just to kiss her again. She licks into him and just like that, he’s unraveling. He comes on her stomach. 

Jon rolls onto his side, catching his breath without crushing her underneath his entire body. He feels his face heat up, as he looks at the state of her shirt. “Sorry.”

Sansa just leans into him. Her voice is all dreamy and content. “I like it when you do that.”

He wants to laugh, but he’s too tired, so he just shakes his head. “You’re so strange.”

He pulls her shirt off so that she’s naked and not as much of a mess and that is how they lay together. The sky is slowly darkening outside. Her head is on his shoulder and his hands are resting on her hips. 

“I’ll go see someone. Just once. To try it out.”

She says it so quietly, Jon nearly doesn’t hear her. It takes a minute for the words to register. When they do, he rests his chin on top of her head. “Okay.”

“I don’t want my mom to know.”

“Then I won’t tell her.”

Sansa exhales in relief. “Okay.”

He agrees, “Okay.”

Her arms tighten around him as she moves closer to him. Her voice is shy. “Will you tell me you love me again?”

He does so without hesitation. 

* * *

To this day, Jon doesn’t understand how he ended up engaged to Val. He never proposed, and neither did she. But one day, they were getting an ultrasound, and she told him, “I want to be married before the baby comes.”

Jon was too busy staring at the black and white grain on the picture in front of him. The entire way here, he had been hoping that Val was mistaken. But there it was, no larger than a raspberry. A baby. 

“If we wait any longer, I’ll be enormous.” She continued, complaining. “And who knows what I’ll look like after the birth. I don’t wanna have to starve myself to fit into a wedding dress.”

Weddings. Babies. These are things normal people worry about. Getting married. Starting a family. And yet, it’s the last thing he wants to do. And if he did want to do them, there was only one person he wanted to do then with.

But Sansa was gone for good. He couldn’t bring her back. The best thing he could do was move on, and do right by this child. Even if he didn’t want it.

So he said, “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

The next weekend, they took a train to Scotland to visit his mother and tell her the news. As predicted, Lyanna nearly fainted. And then she scolded Jon for not introducing Val sooner, and began fussing over her. 

“I never thought you would be the first one to give me grandchildren.” She was bouncing around the kitchen, with a spring in her step. “I didn’t even think you wanted children.”

_I don’t,_ he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He was afraid that his mother would hate him. 

“Plans change all the time, mum.”

“I can’t believe you’ve known a week now, and you didn’t tell me.” She chastised. “You probably told Sansa before me. Your own mother.”

The thought of telling Sansa made his stomach turn, but he didn’t correct her. If he did, he would have to tell her that Sansa didn’t live with him anymore and then he’d have to tell her why and if he did all that, he might have cried. So he just shrugged and didn’t say anything else. 

When he got back to London, he told Arianne because he didn’t want to chance her hearing it from anywhere else. He went to go see her at her house. They had tea in the garden. After he finished talking, she was silent and stone faced for a very long time.

“I understand why you’re doing it.” She said at last, running a finger along the circumference of her cup. “Doesn’t mean I agree—but I understand.”

Jon didn’t thank her. 

“What?” Arianne folded her arms across her chest and sat back. “You want me to yell at you? To scream at you? It’s not gonna change your mind. And you already feel like shit as it is.”

Her reasoning only made him feel worse. He picked at a loose thread on his shirt. 

Her face softened, just a little. “Have you told her?”

“How would I? We’re not even speaking.”

“She’s gonna find out at some point.”

Jon ground his jaw so hard it hurt. “I know.”

He was not expecting some point to be so soon. It was only the wedding he had to worry about, as no one save for a few knew about her being pregnant. Val and Dalla were steadfast and dedicated in planning the wedding. Jon often came back to the flat to find them at the kitchen table, calling vendors and discussing the details. One day, he came home after a particularly taxing day, and they were on his couch, and Dalla was drinking _his_ wine. 

“I sent out the invitations, today.” Val said.

Jon had been on his way to his room, but he stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t even give you my list.”

“Whenever I tried to get it from you, you always claimed you were too busy. So I just asked your mum and dad and I made my own.”

“Can I see it?”

His mother’s list was small. Howland, Meera, and Jojen. But his father predictably put every Targaryen within a 50 mile radius down, along with Arianne and her family and every single one of the Starks.

Jon bit his tongue hard.

“Is that okay?” Val asked him, frowning

“Yes.” He forced himself to say. “It’s fine.”

The wedding took place a month later, at the Targaryen manor. Jon had never seen it so packed before. His father financed the entire thing, so him and Val were as thick as thieves. They had the same image in mind. Glamour, glamour, glamour. 

The bridesmaid party was dressed to the nines in their frilly forest green dresses, which Meera had complained about for at least an hour the first time she tried it on. The groomsmen wore all black, save for Jon. His party was small next to Val’s. Jojen was his best man, and his only other groomsmen were Tormund and Viserys. Val wanted him to choose more people, so they could have even numbers, but Jon shut it down quickly.

“Are you scared?” Jojen asked him.

Jon was sitting in the window in Rhaegar’s study, looking at the guests scattered across the ground like ants. “No.”

“Then why are you drinking so much?”

Jojen often made astute observations like this, and had no problem saying what was on his mind. That was how their mother raised him. Jon wished she didn’t, sometimes. 

“I’m celebrating.” He muttered, “It’s my wedding day.”

“Celebrate with this for awhile.” Tormund exchanged the flask in his hand for a bottle of water. “If you throw up on Val’s dress, she’ll kill you.”

Jon did not throw up on her dress—which his father also paid for. She looked beautiful. Her bump was barely noticeable, She was smiling when he pulled back her veil. Her lipstick was sticky as he kissed her.

“How drunk are you right now?” Val asked him under her breath, as they danced during the reception. 

The scotch he drank made him abnormally candid. “Not enough to get through the rest of the night.”

Val was still smiling, because there were people still watching. “After we finish, you’re gonna sit down and you’re gonna make a concentrated effort not to embarrass me for the rest of the night. Understand?”

“Happy wife, happy life.” He said under his breath.

She made a show of kissing his cheek. “And don’t you forget it.”

Jon did as he was told and remained seated. People came up to give their congratulations, and also to steal Val away for a dance. He let them. He was too busy searching the crowd for a familiar face. He saw Arianne and Benjen dancing. He saw Catelyn conversing with Howland. He saw both of the twins entertaining their nieces, and Robb and Jeyne were tending to a fussy Serena. He didn’t see her.

His mother came to sit beside him. They did not speak, at first. But he knew what she came for. 

“I haven’t seen Sansa.” She said. “I was hoping to finally meet her.”

Jon played with the stem of his wine glass. “She moved back to the states before summer started.”

“So that means she couldn’t make it to your wedding?”

He shrugged.

Lyanna’s hand covered his. “Jon.”

His eyes started to sting and blur. He muttered, “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

She put her arm around him, but didn’t push any further. He wanted to crumple into her arms. 

“I miss her.” He said. “I miss her so much I can’t even breathe, sometimes.”

“I know.” She said, even though she didn’t. Not really.

Jon didn’t cry. He blinked a couple more times, and he drank some more. He could feel his mother’s eyes on him. 

“What are you gonna do?” She asked.

He stood up, then. The world wasn’t spinning. So he took that as a good sign. 

“I’m gonna go home with my pregnant wife.”

He left her, and didn’t look back. It was a couple hours before Jon was allowed to leave. They went back to his flat. Val was so tired from being on her swollen feet all day, that she fell asleep still in her dress. Jon took her shoes off, and tucked her in. He did not get in bed with her. 

He went to Sansa’s room, instead. Or what Sansa’s room used to be. He sat on the floor, up against the wall. It still smelled like her, if he closed his eyes. So that was what he did. 

Jon woke up to Val standing over him. She had kicked his shoe to wake him up. After he came to, he simply stared up at her. He knew what it looked like. There was no point in denying it. 

“This has to stop.” She said to him. “Before the baby comes.”

Her voice was somehow gentler than he expected it to be. Not soft, but not hard, either. It shocked him into silence. All he could do was nod. 

“We should go shopping today.” Val padded over to the closet to look inside. “Get some stuff for the baby. This could be a nice nursery, don’t you think?”

Jon felt like he owed it to her to agree. “Yeah.”

They went shopping later that day and bought a crib. He put it together. They lost the baby four months later. 

* * *

Melisandre refers him to Dr. Brienne Tarth, who owns a private practice in town. She has a lot of good reviews. They schedule an appointment for Wednesday. It comes faster than they both anticipate.

Sansa stops him short of opening the door. “I think I’ll go in by myself.” 

“Oh.” Jon closes the door. “You’ll be okay?”

She kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

He pulls up directly in front of the building so she doesn’t have to walk all the way across the parking lot. 

“I’ll be out here, then.” 

“See you in an hour.” 

Before Sansa disappears behind the automatic doors, she waves at him. He waves back. He thinks she is trying to reassure him. Jon feels incredibly anxious. What if she hates it and she has a bad experience? It would be completely his fault.

He decides to drive around some, because he can’t sit still. Staring at the clock only made time tick by even more slowly. He stops for gas. He checks his email. He comes circling back to Dr. Tarth’s office. He still has half an hour to go. He wants to crawl out of his skin. He finishes two cigarettes instead. His phone rings. Jon knows who it is before checking. He wants to ignore it, but he can’t anymore. So he doesn’t. 

“You finally answered.” Val says, when he doesn’t speak. She pauses. “That means it’s over, doesn’t it?”

“It was over the minute I left.” He presses his forehead against the icy window pane. “You told me that, remember?”

“I thought you’d come back.” She says softly. “Or I hoped, anyway.

“Val—”

“Please. _Please._ Just—spare me.”

He swallows whatever apology he had. 

“Did you ever love me? At any point during the last three years—was it ever anything more than obligation and pity?”

After the wedding, they went to Cannes for their honeymoon. It was like a sun drenched dream. France was somewhere Sansa could not touch. He could pretend he was a normal person, enjoying a vacation with his wife. The staff referred to them as the newlyweds. They watched the sky turn pink and purple on the beach and they looked for houses online. They slept in the same bed. It was nice. When they came back, he was determined to try. He didn’t open the door to Sansa’s room for a long time. He got used to the wedding band around his finger. He kissed Val before he left for work every morning. Developing an affection for her was easy. They spent most of their days together, and it helped ebb away his loneliness. Love was a different story.

“After the first baby—after we lost her—” Her voice breaks. “I figured that was a sign. I didn’t want another one. I wasn’t even sure about being a mother in the first place. I thought that losing her—I thought it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t.”

He knows this because it was his. He couldn’t find it in himself to be anything more than deathly afraid at the prospect of bringing a child into the world. There was nothing he wanted less. He stood in front of the nursery of Eastwatch for what felt like hours, trying to feel something. He watched parents greet their children with tears in their eyes and he watched nurses rock them to sleep. But every time he looked at them, he wasn’t seeing the baby. Just the person they would grow up to be. The screwed up person, all because of him. He knew in his bones that he would be a horrible father, and he regularly wished he didn’t have to be. And one day he woke up, and Val was bleeding, and he wasn’t anymore.

It was his fault.

“But you were there. You didn’t ask me why I didn’t cry and you didn’t ask me why I went back to work so soon and you held me at night. You held me so tight. For the first time in our marriage, I felt like—I felt like you _loved_ me.”

He was protective of Val after she lost the baby. At first he thought it was because he felt like he owed it to her. But one day, when he was at work, he got a patient that was an infant. A girl. She had a congenital heart defect. He broke down in the oncall room afterwards. It was Val who came to get him. Mormont called her. He cried, and she held him. That was when he realized that he needed her support as much as she needed his. No one else could understand what they went through. It felt like it was them against the rest of the world. 

“I thought if I gave you another baby, a living one, you would love me even more. More than anyone. More than _her—”_ Val’s voice cracks, and she stops speaking. “I wasn’t trying to get pregnant so I could be a mother. I was trying to get pregnant so you would keep being mine.”

Jon’s eyes sting.

She lets out a bitter, watery laugh. “Kind of pathetic, huh?”

“I’m the pathetic one.” He says. “Not you. You deserve better. And you’ll find it.”

Val makes a noise as if she’s swallowing a sob. But she begins to speak in a cold, callous kind of way that contradicts that theory.

“I almost feel bad for her. She’s the only person in the world you love. That you actually feel anything for. And look how you’ve treated her.”

The words are like daggers to the chest, but Jon takes them. He deserves it all and worse from her. His mouth tastes metallic. 

“No matter how much she warms you up, you’ll always be cold. And distant. Difficult to love. Unable to fully love anyone.” Val says. “You’ll never be happy. And for me—that’s some consolation.”

She hangs up. Jon doesn’t put down his phone. It’s still warm, and pressed up against his cheek. He knows if he lets it go, his hands will start to shake. _Distant. Difficult to love. Unable to love anyone._

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the automatic doors open. Sansa comes hopping out on her crutches. He sits there frozen awhile, until she waves at him. He snaps out of it, and drops his phone into the door pocket. He turns the key into the ignition and pulls up to the curb.

“Hi.” She greets him, when she slides in the car. 

“Hey.” Jon says back. He is too busy trying to sound normal to sustain any long lasting conversation. They leave the parking lot and get on the road. 

“That doctor was really nice. I think I’d like to see her again.”

Sansa’s voice sounds a lot like white noise. They’re sitting at a stoplight. Jon is biting his tongue. He doesn’t know why. The taste of his own blood is not making him feel any better.

“That’s good.” He hears himself say. “I’ll schedule another appointment for you.”

Jon is aware of something warm on his arm. Her hand is there. He looks up to find her looking at him concernedly. Her mouth is moving, but he can’t focus on the words coming out of it. Still, he tells her, “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the drive home. 

* * *

It’s freezing when they get back in the house. Jon goes outside to get wood and ends up just sitting there. He isn’t wearing a coat. He stays until he can’t feel his fingers. Then he goes back inside. The cold feels like it’s bone deep. It makes him think of Val’s words. 

Sansa is sitting on the window seat. She had been watching him. She watches him now. Jon ignores that. He makes himself busy by starting a fire. 

“You’ve been quiet.” She says.

He shrugs. Then he realizes that he is proving her point. “Sorry.”

“Will you come sit with me?”

His knees ache from squatting, but Jon still stands up. He makes his way over to her. Sansa is looking at him in a way that frightens him. Like he is a mirror and because he is her reflection, she knows exactly what he is hiding. Still, he sits down beside her. 

Her hand comes up to hold his cheek. “Is today a bad day?”

Something inside of him breaks, and all he can do is nod.

She brings his head closer until he’s leaning on her shoulder. She strokes his hair so softly he wants to cry. 

“It was Val in the car, wasn’t it?”

He was still holding the phone up to his ear when she saw him. There’s no point in hiding it. He doesn’t even want to. “It was.”

Her hand stills. “What are you thinking?”

Jon pulls away so he can look at her. “I should be asking you that.”

She’s looking down at her knees, not quite meeting his eyes. Her voice is small, as she takes his hand. “So ask me.”

“Will you tell me?”

She presses her lips together. “I’m scared.”

Scared. He doesn’t understand for a moment. Not until he watches her index finger move across his ring finger. He’s shocked for a moment. “You don’t think I’m actually gonna leave her.”

“Hurting her is obviously hurting you.” She closes her eyes. “And you’re a good man—”

“I’m not.” 

“Jon—”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” He shakes his head. “I tried and I failed, I’m just—I’m not. I don’t think I can be.”

“Of course you can be.” Sansa argues. “You _are—”_

“If I was a good man, I would leave you alone. I would encourage you to find someone better than me. I wouldn’t have made Val lose the baby. I wouldn’t have let her run herself ragged trying to get pregnant in hopes that it’d make me love her, I wouldn’t have—”

He can’t breathe. He can’t look at her, so he looks down instead. His chest is aching and he feels like a hollow husk of himself. 

“She was pregnant?”

Her voice is quiet. Unreadable. When he looks at her, her expression is shuttered. Like she’s locking the doors of her heart and closing him out. 

“Before the wedding.” He answers softly. 

Her voice is flat, and emotionless. “Was it planned?” 

“We were barely even dating. Of course it wasn’t planned.” He says incredulously. “The day she told me, I was trying to get to you.”

Shock ripples across her face. “Me?”

Jon closes his mouth. He resolves not to say anything else when he feels her hand over his. He’s forced to look up. Her blue eyes are pleading and desperate, and her words are anything but.

“Tell me.” She demands. 

“Myranda came by. And she told me I shouldn’t give up on you. That I should try.” His voice shakes a little. “I didn’t know what I was gonna do or say, I just knew I had to get to you.”

“You could have called.”

“I couldn’t make you stay and deal with my mess.” 

Her lower lip trembles, then. “That’s why you married her.”

He doesn’t confirm it. 

“And the baby—” Sansa covers her mouth. “Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry.”

Her arms are coming around him. He doesn’t deserve them. Jon bites the inside of his cheek until the pain steels his nerves. He wouldn’t cry. 

“It was my fault. I didn't want it, and she lost it. I kept wishing the problem would just go away and—” His voice breaks. “She was gone.”

“You can’t cause a miscarriage with a few bad thoughts, Jon. You’re a doctor. You know that.”

“I should have tried harder. I should have went with Val to more of her appointments, I should have—”

“There is nothing you could have done differently. Do you hear me?” She’s soft, but she’s firm at the same time. “It wasn’t your fault.”

As she holds him and reassures him, Jon feels strangely outside of himself. He doesn’t have any tears left. 

“I couldn’t love her. I tried, and I couldn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I’m so cold.”

He doesn’t know whether he’s talking about Val, or the baby. 

“You’re not cold. You love plenty of people.” She tells him. “You love your mom and your brother and your sister. You love Howland and Arianne and Benjen. You love me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” He mutters. “That doesn’t mean I can love right.”

Her fingers comb through his hair. Sansa whispers, “I’ll teach you.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you again.”

“Then don’t.”

Jon can’t bring himself to push her away. Not when she’s still here. He swears then that he won’t. Not ever again. That from now on, he would try.

“You were gonna run through an airport for me.” 

“More or less.”

She pulls back to look at him, then. “You told me you weren’t that guy.”

He wipes a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’d do a lot of things for you that I wouldn’t do for other people.”

“Yeah.” She leans into him. “I know.”

“Yeah.” Jon closes his eyes. “You know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t the end! I’m writing a third part in Sansa’s POV that takes place a few months later. 35 comments and I’ll post! Thanks for reading.


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